Shattered Glass
by MaddestXHatter
Summary: After defeating Void and saving the town from his destruction, the pack faces the death of a member and caring for Stiles, who is left in critical condition. Written after Aiden's death in episode 3x24 "Divine Move", describing the aftermath. Warning: description of death and medical concern, so rated above K
1. Mirror

It was Lydia who first heard Aiden.

The very first to hear the heart of her wolf failing

It was a soft sound: stuttering in the darkness, faltering in inaudible grace; she felt her own go still.

The Banshee was aware of someone speaking, asking what was wrong. She did not answer, eyes widening at the sound of the final exhale. Her dainty hand slipped from the boy on the floor, the world around her suddenly dimming as the porcelain doll rose to run. Slamming open the school's exit doors, Lydia felt the air clawed from her very being as she saw the lifeless body on the concrete. Eyes having flickered into a colorless, light-lost void that can only be achieved by death, her distraction was being clung to by none other than Ethan. The bloodied sword that had left Aiden's brother alone in that god-forsaken place dripped liquid garnet, each drop like a thunderous wave to Lydia's ear, crashing onto the ground and staining the pavement. She could hear the bubbling of onyx blood from the wound, never to heal as it ran from his abdomen, one her hands had memorized countless times in a forgotten office. The lips she had once kissed— had allowed to caress her skin— were parted, no longer inhaling oxygen, but became cold rocks to a river of darkness that over-flowed thickly. Her vision blurred as her body paralyzed itself, chest caving as she struggled to breathe.

Aiden's mirror was shattering into fragmented pieces, his trembling fingers running over bloodied lips in an attempt to cleanse it from the boy's skin, but only succeeded in spreading it. Dirtied cheeks stained by tear trails, he collapsed onto his chest, Aiden's name dying in his throat before if reached his tongue.

_Does this hurt you as much as it does me?_

_Does dying hurt as much as losing me? _

Ethan's trembling body told his answer, his aching, beating heart mimicking that of the girl, who could watch no longer. Muscles moving her thoughtless body, she spun directionless in a desperate attempt to shield her vulnerable heart from the sheer agony of it all.

Down the banshee came crashing into the arms of a weak, dying boy, who collected her crumbling limps into a gentle embrace. As Lydia hid her face, Stiles viewed the destruction his demon had inflicted. The raw, numbing guilt poisoned his veins, his deep, earthly eyes filled with more emotion than he could humanly contain. His inner remorse intensified as Lydia's muffled scream split the night's quiet aurora, and he cringed from its closeness, but did not let go of the emerald-eyed girl. His cold fingers stroked her amber curls, each strawberry-blond lock intertwining in his hands as he soothed her. In that moment, Stiles wished he had the strength to comfort her without the threat of collapsing. He longed to tell her nonsense that would ease the pain, however so slightly, but his throat was so dry; so raw, as if it had been he who screamed himself hoarse. He longed to stay on his feet for just a moment longer, but it could not be so. Stiles Stilinski, the boy who ran with wolves, survivor of possession, let his hand fall from the crown of amber and his eyes close, his being of skin and bone collapsing as the coils of threatening exhaustion took him captive.

His childhood love gasped in surprise as her shaking limps tried to gather his limp body in her own arms, struggling with his weight that was suddenly capable of pulling them both to the pavement. The alpha whose presence she had not noticed before nearly fell over himself as he rushed to their aid, straining to hear a struggling organ inside his friend's chest. With one glance, it was evident Stiles needed immediate medical care. Quickly collecting his brother's broken body in his arms, involuntarily erupting in chills as their skin brushed one another, Scott rose, clenching his jaw as black inked its way through his veins. The commotion caught Derek and Chris' attention down below, who connected eyes with the alpha. It was decided that Derek would stay with Ethan and call the authorities, having thought of a cover story by the time they would arrive, while Argent and Isaac would give Deaton the Triskele box and find a safe location to hide it from prying eyes and curiosity.

With a nod from their leader, the group departed, each setting off to do their task, and Kira ran to put the jeep into ignition. Scott breathed deeply as he briskly walked in the direction of the awaiting vehicle, eyes closing briefly as the ink flowed beneath his flesh. Stiles' fragile body was so light in his arms, and the alpha feared he would break his tangible bones if he was not careful. Lydia trailed behind, lips sealed tightly against themselves, trembling and wet with hot tears. Ethan's agonizing wails of despair could not be blocked from her range of hearing, no matter how hard she tried to tune it out. Numbly, she walked to the jeep's left-hand door, silently settling into the backseat of the car, not bothering to wipe the running mascara from her cheeks. Scott laid the boy in his arms down like he was placing a bomb into the sand, slowly and gentle as the banshee guided him to rest on her lap, shaking fingers settling in his hair that would be stained by the grief that fell like rainwater from her tormented eyes.

Scott made his way to the driving seat, while Kira buckled in to his right. Glancing at the pale, still face of their Banshee, he but the stick into reverse, and pulled out onto the high school's main road.

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><p>Okay, So I didn't really plan to make this into a divided story, but I ran out of writing juice. What do you guys think so far for part one? (I think I'll just do two sections) I don't know if it was boring, and I apologize if I lost you at some parts. But if you have made it to the end, thank you so much for taking the time to read this. Any comments would be lovely, however, please no negativity if you can help yourselves. Any suggestionsideas you would like to see in the next chapter? All input is welcome!


	2. A Living Corpse

"_We need help!"_

The scream vibrated the very ceiling tiles, disrupting Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital and its late night peace. Mellissa McCall looked up from the reception desk in time to see her son burst through the entrance doors, Banshee and Kitsune by his side. In his arms was Stiles Stilinski, deep shadows plaguing his eyes like a sickness, the painful ice hiding beneath his skin like a parasite. Nurses rushed as doctors were paged, and it seemed like everything was happening at once. The alpha was slightly resistant to let foreign hands take the burden from his body, and as his friend was transferred from his arms to a gurney, Scott stiffened slightly as the black beneath his veins faded and returned to their host.

Time then seemed to slow to a crawl for a group of three teenagers that were left standing on the hospital's main floor, watching the shell of a boy being wheeled away on a gurney much too big for him, his pale arm hanging lifeless under its rail, pulse being taken by a nameless face that was requesting for immediate fluids. Scott heard the questions of the staff, asking for him and his friends to please have a seat, and if possible, provide any information about what had happened, but they were veered away by the sheriff and Melissa McCall, who had to physically restrain her son from following in suit. He strained to hear Stiles' faint, ragged stutters of a heart; a fight for life that was being lost. Voices trotted over the thudding sound with ease, and he could only listen to the rapid jutter of the wheels, the air being pushed into his fragile lungs with the help of gloved hands…

All the alpha could envision was the tubes running from Stiles' arm, the porcelain skin that was threatening to cave on itself, and the fact he had heard his heart nearly stop twice on the five minute drive there made the hallway seem to spin, twisting and turning in a way that was grotesque. He remembered Melissa's hands cupping his face as she tried to tear his eyes from the vacant space, her lips moving inaudibly, when he heard the clear words of the nameless nurse:

_He's flat-lining_

And suddenly Scott McCall knew what it felt like to die

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><p>Everything was cold.<p>

So unbelievably cold, it was as if he had kissed the morning frost but it had embedded itself into his very skin and had made its way to his heart. Stiles Stilinski wasn't aware of consciousness, of breathing and not breathing. He didn't think, move; the pain was the only thing present besides the unbearable chill. As if shards of metal and glass had lodged themselves firmly into his body, it was constant: burning like a lit coal that could not be cooled by the ice in his soul. It was the pain that Stiles longed to so desperately be free of, yet he felt shackled – anchored—to it, and it ate him slowly, burning away his existence like the pages of a notebook, and the nurses that kept a breathing mask to his face had no idea of this agony. They wheeled the unconscious pack member into a white-walled room, frantically bringing in machines with buttons, wires, and stands, hooking them all up to the still corpse they called alive, being so careful not to break the fragile human.

If Stiles could have seen himself, he would have thought he was looking at a distorted reflection; a shadow, something that was not Stiles at all. This was because of the thousands of tubes running in and out of his dying shell, running from the back of his ears, taped inside his nostrils, his mouth, his stomach: everywhere. IV's found their way to his dry veins and injected fluids, air from a ventilator pumped oxygen into his still lungs, and bandages were wrapped tightly around one of his hands, a gash from Kira's blade having torn into his vulnerable palm. So if the infamous, why-so-serious sheriff's son could have seen himself, he would have been looking at bruised, deep-set eyes, cracked skin, and shattered bones.

He would have been looking at the illustration of death itself.

He would have known that at that very moment, Lydia Martin was tasting iron on her tongue from pressing her lips together too tightly, the intense pressure of suppressing a scream practically splitting the skin.

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><p>It burned her throat, like acid, it clawed its way from her lungs despite her efforts. Nails digging into Scott's hand, she tried to listen to his begging for her to remain silent, pleading with her:<p>

"_Please, Lydia, don't. We can't lose him too."_

"_Please, Lydia, I'll do anything. I'm begging you, please."_

_Please_

_Please_

_Please_

The desperation was making his words thick, slurring them with emotion as he tried to take the pain— oh, the horrible, mind-searing pain that left her senses wailing for oxygen of a different kind— but could only do so much when it came do the banshee's suffering. She wished she could tell him she was doing her best, that it was eating her alive, fighting the very call of her being, but Lydia could hardly nod. All she could hear was Void's faint, haunting voice plaguing the back of her mind, a distant echo of tragedy, pain, strife…chaos.

_What are the voices telling you?_

_Are they saying that Stiles is dying?_

_He is, you know…_

_**He's **__**dying**__._

Her eyes closed at the sudden wave of nausea, the acid biting the back of her tongue. She had not forgotten the trickster-spirit; the Nogitsune who wore her lover's skin and decayed his living body until it was nothing, till the fox's puppet couldn't walk without her support. Despite capturing the demon, ending all the continuous hardship, agony, and loss, it was not enough, because he was still corrupting their life. Stiles was in the Intense care unit, hanging onto life by a string that was about to snap. Lydia was concentrating so hard on the taste of iron in her mouth, on the boy floors above them, that she wasn't even aware of the hot cloth being rubbed against her skin, gently wiping away the black mascara from the girl's eyes and face.

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><p>The kitsune was silent; withdrawn as she moved the small towel across the flesh. What could she possibly say that could make it better? She never knew Aiden that well, and even though she and Stiles both shared an alpha, she was a new pick of the pack, not even truly one of them, so she didn't think she had the privilege to really call herself his friend just yet. Secretly, she blamed her mother for this, and herself. If Noshiko had never called on the Nogitsune for Rhys' avengement, Void would have never possessed an innocent boy. No one would have been injured or killed. Stiles wouldn't be grasping for something he once had. None of this would have happened if her family had never come into the picture…Scott wouldn't have lost his first love. Lydia would still have her best friend. With her tongue heavy as lead, Kira chose to hold it and focus her attention on tucking Lydia's strawberry blonde locks behind a freckled, porcelain ear, and she ignored how her hands shook.<p>

Void's coal-colored blood remained dry, cracked as it clung to the underside of her fingernails. No amount of scrubbing in the hospital restroom had aided in it's removal. It seemed so out of place when paired with the white washcloth. Kira didn't like the contrast, and it made her wonder if it hurt Stiles when she ran the sword through the Nogitsune's body. When it shattered his chest cavity, running through his rib-cage and protruding through his chest, did Void's pawn feel the blossoming fire erupt through his upper torso? Or was it slow, creeping upon him in the form of tunnel vision, causing his blackout and unbearable pain that Scott described? She hoped that wasn't the case. She hoped not a single ounce of that agony touched him.

She hoped it wasn't her doing.

.

.

.

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><p><strong>OKAY GUYS, LET ME <strong>**EXPLAIN**

I know I promised some of you I'd update weeks ago, but my computer crashed and decided it wasn't going to live anymore. So, boom: lost files, lost pictures. Everything GONE. I lost my work, so i had to write a new one from scratch. Yay. I intended for this to be longer, but I've decided to expand the story to fully cover stiles' recovery/the aftermath. I couldn't possibly contain it all in two short chapters. But i promise you, the next update will not take nearly as long. I'm currently working on it, and maybe, just _maybe_, you'll see an update by this Wednesday! :) Thoughts and comments? Don't worry, there will be some ships sailing in the future. Anything you'd like to see in the next chapters? Message me, and we'll talk!


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